


There's Nothing Without You

by MMonster



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cousy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Oral Sex, Romance, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 09:05:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14849855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MMonster/pseuds/MMonster
Summary: A man sitting alone on a beautiful beach under the sunset, a sparkling clear ocean spread endlessly in front of him, immaculate white sand under his feet, a far away look on his face.Daisy has never seen anything more heartbreaking.____Or how Coulson and Daisy come together after the end of the world.





	There's Nothing Without You

**Author's Note:**

> Just to clarify, this is Smut. With a capital 'S'. And Feelings, with a capital 'F'.
> 
> Enjoy!

She finds him where she left him, sitting on the sand by the sea, watching the multicolored hues of the sky as day turns into night. His clothes are the same, but his shirt is half-open and not tucked, he is shoeless and there is sand all over his legs.

He doesn't turn towards her as she gets close, but she knows he isn't unaware of her presence, no matter the blank, distant expression clouding his face. She stands close by for a moment, studying his face, the five o'clock shadow that had at some point become normal on him accentuating the tiredness that seems to hang on his shoulders like the weight of the world.

A man sitting alone on a beautiful beach under the sunset, a sparkling clear ocean spread endlessly in front of him, immaculate white sand under his feet, a far away look on his face.

Daisy has never seen anything more heartbreaking.

It feels selfish, how relieved she is. Even knowing what this means, Coulson sitting here, alone. Waiting but also just… being. This means he lost, she lost. But it also means that it was not everything, because he is still here, even if May isn't. Or Jemma, or Fitz, or Mack, or Elena.

She sits by his side and they watch as the darkness unfurls over the horizon, blemished only by shimmering starts and the silvery gleam of the moonlight. Daisy would lose track of the time if not for the changing light and the steady presence at her side. Their arms brush, but they don't look at one another.

There is a safe heaven in the center of her, a shelter made by him and kept by the fact that he is still here. It makes everything else seem distant, even the loss.

Finally, when the chill of the night wind is cutting enough that goosebumps are all over her skin, Coulson speaks. His voice is rough, tight and unused.

“Did anyone...” He doesn't need to finish, because she looks at him and she knows that the grief etched on his face is mirrored on hers.

But now, for the first time in hours, the first time since she left him here to die a peaceful death away from her, they are looking into each others eyes. That last time they told the truth that has been unsaid between them for years; the first and last time of perhaps the one constant truth in their relationship being verbalized. Now, it is all that is keeping Daisy together. The one string teetering her to the ground.

She doesn't know who moves first, if even one of them does or if it just happens with a synchronized inevitability. Her arms curl around his shoulders, clutching so tightly she knows it must hurt. His legs open and she crawls between them, settling inside the warmth and safety of his embrace. She feels his arms, strong despite disease and exhaustion, locking around her waist.

At first she rests her chin on his shoulder, eyes clouding with water, unseeing in the darkness. But it's Coulson and home and the only thing protecting her, so she hides her face against his chest where she drowns in his scent and warmth as sobs she can not hold within anymore spill out.

Daisy is startled when she hears him crying too. Through all the things they suffered, she doesn't remember seeing or hearing Coulson really cry. Maybe silent, mainly tears, with rare exceptions. But now he weeps, as she does, not loud but not silent either, tears so plentiful that she can feel the wetness on her hair the same way he must feel on his shirt. Her nose is blocked and she must be getting snot on him, but she doesn't care.

She is curled up between his arms, gripping him to her as if he is the only thing keeping her afloat, and he is. She doesn't know, but she hopes she can offer him even a tenth of what he is offering her, as they stay there.

Eventually, exhaustion settles into Daisy's body, making every limb feel heavy. Her eyes, closed against the mess she made of Coulson's chest, finally stop their stream. She sniffs and breathes through her mouth. Despite the pain eating her from inside out, she feels safe and warm and at home. She barely notices when Coulson finally moves, picking her up on a bridal carry that keeps her face nestled against his neck and his arms surrounding her.

Daisy is carried, mostly asleep, towards the hotel room Coulson got with May. There are stairs and the hotel is a good five hundred feet from the beach, but the pain is strangely comforting to him. He finally reaches his destination and carefully lays Daisy on the bed. He is heaving but he takes the time to pull off her shoes, jacket and to cover her with the thin bedding before curling up beside her.

Daisy is peaceful in her slumber, but the tear tracks and the pain have left their mark on her face. He wipes the wetness there with his thumb, runs his fingers over the tiny lines on her forehead and temples, the sides of her mouth. She frowns at the touch and sniffs, her nose wrinkling, but doesn't awake. It's so unexpectedly adorable that it drags a smile from him. Her expression eases and he caresses her cheek instead, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

As his own eyelids become so heavy he can barely keep them open, a thought that often runs through his mind since he met Daisy – Skye – makes itself known. Propriety, decorum, he should sleep on the couch, or the floor or even turn away from her and put some distance between them.

Daisy has filled many roles in his life, been placed in more than a couple different categories he always attempts to keep compartmentalized. At first she was a person of interest, a civilian, a consultant; and then she was a protégé, an underling, a daughter figure, an agent. Faster than anyone could have guessed, she became a friend, someone he trusts with his whole self and, mostly without him noticing or naming it, someone he loves and can't imagine losing.

Through all of that, in not a single moment did she become someone it would be okay to touch as he did today, to be as close to as he was now. Hugs and causal touches were always surprisingly frequent between them, since much before it would have been acceptable. However, there was, there is a line, one he never even wanted to cross before, truthfully, but that was always in the back of his head.

But when it comes to Daisy, he can't be objective. He thinks about that line, looks at it as if it's in front of him. Then he drags himself closer to her and curls his body around hers, an arm goes under her head, the other over her waist, his hand resting on her back. They breathe the same air, faces inches apart, their legs touch from knees to cold feet. He adjusts the covers so they are both shielded from the chill and before he knows it he has fallen asleep to the reassuring, rhythmic sound of her breathing.

He is startled awake what feels like minutes later, but is probably hours. Darkness hangs around them, signaling that they are now deep into the night. He isn't sure what woke him up until he feels the ground shake slightly and Daisy mumble in her sleep as she clutches him tight.

He doesn't think about it, his hand holds her face as if it is made of glass, his lips brush against the soft skin of her cheek and he whispers in her ear as he holds her close. “It's okay.” “You're safe.” “I'm here.” Again and again. He knows exactly when she wakes up because the ground gives one last, long shudder before stilling completely.

“I'm sorry.” She whispers and her breath smells like sleep and hunger and coffee and it doesn't bother him at all.

“It's okay, Daisy.” He smiles at her. Her eyes shine when she looks at him.

“Nothing is ever going to be okay.” She says. Coulson knows this is temporary. That they will get up and she will swallow those words down and get to work, because their people are out there, they _must_ be, but for now he allows the sentiment to breathe out in the air.

“Maybe. But I'm glad you're here.” He says honestly. It feels like another step over the line, that line, even if it's nothing he has never told her before. But he ignores that because it's dark and she is so close and it makes her smile, sad but sincere, and it's enough.

“Me, too.”

His thumb is caressing her face almost without his willful command and she moves even closer. He opens his legs automatically to make space for hers as one of them wedges itself between his. Her hand goes from where it rested between their bodies to his face, running over the rough texture of his stubble. It's viscerally pleasant and he almost purrs at her touch, which makes her smile softly again.

The image of that line is still on his mind, but it's ruthlessly ignored. Their position, her touch, how good it feels to be near her and how beautiful she is under the silvery light of the moon reaching them through the window makes his pleasure at being with her trespass from a platonic, safe area, to one which makes his damaged heart beat painfully faster.

They simply watch one another for long moments, fingers caressing skin and breaths mingling. It's almost not sexual, when both of them close that tiny distance and their lips touch, chastely. It's desire for reassurance and closeness and a history, from both of them, of losing that which they care about. It startles Coulson and he leans back to study her face. The line is crossed and he remembers why it was there in the first place.

But the distance is too much for Daisy and she moves slightly, trying to get closer somehow. Something glistens in her eyes and her lips part when she brushes against dangerous territory. Coulson thought he didn't have enough in him to blush, but he was wrong. Her expression, their closeness, it's the straw that broke the camels back and it bursts a dam in him he didn't even know was already overflowing.

It almost isn't a voluntary decision when he crosses those last few inches and bites down softly on her jutting, pink lower lip. He soothes the area with his tongue and feels her shiver from head to toe. His mouth opens wider in order to wet the upper one too because symmetry is important and his mind is completely blank except for the impossible softness of her lips.

He wonders if the inside of her mouth is as sweet and there is nothing stopping him from finding out, so he slides his tongue inside and yes, it is. Sweet and soft and warm and he can't stop, specially not when she responds to him, readily. It's Daisy, Daisy clutched in his arms and Daisy whose mouth he is kissing and Daisy whose leg he is rubbing his erection against.

And it's so good, better than good, better than incredible and he can't believe it's happening both because he never consciously thought about it but somehow it's better than his best fantasies and because it's _Daisy_. Consultant, underling, protégé, daughter figure, agent, friend, woman he trusts and loves and is now so attracted to it's a physical pain.

Coulson knows objectively, as does Daisy, that what they are doing is not wrong on any level. He isn't in SHIELD anymore, so even if there was something left to be called SHIELD and she was an agent and an underling, she wouldn't be _his_. They are both adults in condition of giving consent who share no higher level of parentage than any two random human beings on this planet. In spite of what either has done or said in relation to the other, Coulson isn't and never was her father. They met as adults and every role they have filled for each other since has been in that condition.

Whatever he has, had with May… It was never truly actualized, even if he can't help but feel conflicted that so soon after she is gone he is searching for comfort somewhere else. However, weirdly, he thinks she wouldn't begrudge it so much if it's Daisy, it doesn't feel like a betrayel when he knows she would want both of them to stay sane and safe in any way possible. Lastly, a poisonous thought that slithers into Coulson's brain, there is no one to care or judge them for what they are doing, or at least no one whose opinion would matter. They are all gone. Therefore, there is no wrongness in sight.

The guilt is there nonetheless, along with surprise and fear of ruining one of the most precious relationships of his life by making it into something it shouldn't be. It's Daisy and the idea of being with her like this was never one he gave any true consideration to. But now that he has, it's all encompassing, it's liquid fire searing through his veins and taking him over. In that moment, she is the whole world, all he feels or cares about.

Coulson pulls away for a moment, catching his breath and studying her expression. He thinks, this is it, it stops now, she will say no and it will be over. But her lips are pink and wet with his saliva and she is as out of breath as he is and her eyes are burning him alive. She holds his face with both hands, brings it closer and runs her tongue over his lips. It's filthy and he opens his mouth to suck her tongue inside. The moan she lets out makes his erection twitch and they are kissing again, sloppily and with an edge of despair.

Coulson's hands go from Daisy's face to her neck, he runs a thumb over her pulse point before sliding down and feeling the shape of her left breast over her shirt and bra. He pushes the stretchy fabrics down until her nipple and the curve of her flesh are exposed. He stops kissing her to look. Her breast is just big enough to fit into his hand, small and perfect, and his mouth feels dry as he worries at her nipple with his thumb, watching fascinated, even in the darkness, as it puckers into a rigid point.

He leans down and takes the bit of flesh in his mouth, rubs it with his tongue, sucks and can't resist biting it just hard enough that when he pulls she moans loud and long and arches her back. He releases the breast to fumble with her shirt, an almost corrosive craving for her bare skin against his fingers driving him.

Daisy immediately understands his intention and sits up, pulling both her shirt and bra off in one fluid, economic movement, baring her breasts and midriff to his gaze. Truthfully, Coulson has already seen her if not in that exact amount of nudity then close enough that there is very little that is actually new. However, now, in a way, is completely different. He sees her and it's at the same time the Daisy he has always known and not.

Maybe it's about how he feels in comparison to how he felt. There is the comforting weight of all his usual feelings towards her; trust, companionship, friendship, love, pride, safety. But there is also a new dimension, unexplored, that is threatening to swallow them both with its ferocity. Attraction, lust, a primal desire to consume and be consumed.

She sits there in front of him, bare from the waist up, and Coulson has to slide his right hand towards his crotch where he grabs himself through his pants in a vain attempt to relieve some of the pressure. Daisy's eyes run from his face to his hand, and the desire to see her expression more clearly has him leaning over her to flicker on the overhead lamp. It's bright enough that they can see clearly without hurting their vision.

In the light, Daisy looks beautiful and exactly the same girl, woman, he has know for years. But she is half naked, her nipples are pebbled, one of them shines with his saliva, and her eyes are trained on the bulge under his pants with something in them that can only be called hunger. She looks debauched with her bed hair and heaving breasts and Coulson thinks dazedly that this it's the most arousing sight he has ever been privy to.

He doesn't stop her when she tugs his shirt up over his head, ignoring the buttons, obediently raising his arms instead. She brushes his erection as she tries to work his fly open, which she does with surprising dexterity. Her delicate-looking hand, capable of emitting enough power to destroy buildings, disappears inside his pants. He raises his hips and she is able to pull the garments down enough to completely expose him to the air. His cock bobs against his belly and leg as he moves and Daisy watches it keenly, before running her fingers over the velvety skin and gripping it. Her hand is a bit cold and she could hold him tighter. It's so good he is afraid he will come from just that.

“Daisy...” He groans. She looks from his face to his crotch, holds his flesh tighter and pumps it, once, twice. It's cliched, sure, but he feels like he truly sees stars from her touch. He allows her to explore further, watches her pretty fingers curled around his reddening cock. Precome leaks from him and she runs her thumb over the sensitive head, gathering it on her palm to ease the way.

It's not quite enough so she leans forward and opens her mouth, lets liquid drip down for the tip of her tongue without touching it on him. She looks up at his eyes, which are heavy with pleasure, before leaning further and tracing just the head of his cock, very softly, with her tongue. Her hand starts moving again as her lips engulf only the tip of him. She is still looking in his eyes, shameless, her mouth and hands on the most intimate part of him. Her cheeks hollow out as she slides her mouth down and down, until he feels himself hit the back of her throat. Coulson thinks, vaguely, that she might be able to take him deeper, but their position is wrong for it and he knows he won't be able to stop himself from shooting down her throat if it happens.

He moans her name again and again, a chant and a plea. It reminds him of who he is with, who is the woman swallowing down his cock with obscene wet noises and whose hair it is he is trying his best not to grab on to. When the pressure in his groin is almost too much, when he is sure if she doesn't stop he won't be able to avoid release, he carefully pushes her face away. Her heaving makes her chest rise and fall in a hypnotizing way and her lips are red from sucking on him.

Against the light, he can see the pupils of her dark eyes, blown wide with arousal and something unnamed. She is beautiful, so close he can see all the tiny imperfections on her skin, can run his fingers over the bullet and knife scars on her stomach, the stretch marks on her hips, all the dots and valleys of her. He kisses her and the taste of himself on her mouth only arouses him further.

Coulson pulls her body closer with his android hand, snaps her jeans open with the other one and doesn't bother to take them off of her before sliding his flesh hand under her panties. She is mostly bare on his fingers, soft and smooth except for a small patch of hair over her mound. He searches for her wetness and is not disappointed. Daisy is already so sensitive that she twitches when he rubs her clit, but he buries a finger inside instead. She lets out a long exhale at the invasion and Coulson relishes the feeling of the strong but velvety walls of her sex contracting around him.

He moves his finger, not fast but firm and deep, and watches her face as he does it. When he feels her relax, he pushes a second finger in, enjoying the feeling as her insides clutch at him, as he gives her pleasure.

“Coulson...” She groans and her tone, the breathy quality of it, makes him crave for more of her voice, more of those noises.

“Are you enjoying this?” He asks. She nods, biting her lips again.

“Yes.” A particularly deep thrust makes her lose her train of thought. “Please. It feels incredible.” She breathes out.

“Do you want me to continue?” He presses on.

“Don't dare stopping.” He can feel the tell-tale signs of her orgasm as she flutters around his fingers. He considers adding a third, but she feels tight enough that it might derail her from her pleasure instead of augmenting it, so he just scissors his fingers instead. The walls of her sex contract tightly and it is difficult to spread his fingers, but he tries. He wonders if she can reach her orgasm like this, without him touching her clitoris, but while it seems to be enough to get her high, it doesn't tip her over, and he can see as she starts really riding his fingers in frustration.

He finally pushes her pants and underwear down for better access and is presented with an unimpeded view of his fingers pumping in and out of damp, pink center. She grips his shoulders and kisses him, hips moving with his hand. It only takes him flicking her clit once, twice with his thumb for her to come with a gush of juices on his hand and a sweet mewl that etches itself inside his brain to never leave.

He whispers her name against the skin of her face as he spreads kisses over her cheeks, forehead, mouth, down her neck. He regretfully pulls his fingers from her and parts his lips from her skin only long enough to take the rest of his clothes off and throw them on the floor with hers. The heady scent of her sex makes him dizzy, he kisses her all tongues and teeth, hands mapping her body. His fingers are sticky and he brings them up for a taste. It's tangy and sweet and he wants more, so he moves to lavish attention at her previously neglected right breast, biting and sucking, before going down and down. On the way, he traces the scars on her belly with his tongue, dips it inside her bellybutton and bites down on the skin of her hip.

Coulson doesn't need to push her thighs apart, Daisy opens her legs for him and his gaze scalds her exposed flesh. He stares, drinking her in, before spreading her further with his fingers and leaning down to exhale hot air over the vulnerable nub of her clitoris. She moans deep and long as he rubs it lightly with his tongue, anticipation for more winding her tighter and tighter.

When he finally pushes his mouth completely over her sex, she shudders and a hand grips at his balding hair. He looks up and up over the plane of her belly and the valley of her breasts to her face, where he watches her watch him. He has his face buried between her legs, the taste of her overpowering on his tongue as he pushes it inside and the scent of her driving him slowly out of his mind.

“Coulson. Don't stop, please.” She pleads, her voice caressing his name as his tongue caresses the inside of her. His name sounds profane in her mouth, breathy and husky with pleasure, a voice so familiar to him saying something he has heard it say a thousand times before, but so differently. There is no mistaking that sound for anything else than what it is. It's a memory he knows he will never forget, one that will haunt him if this turns out to be the mistake he hopes desperately it isn't.

Daisy pulls his hair and pushes his head in an attempt to direct him, her hips undulating on his face as she chases the peak. Coulson takes pity on both her and his painfully hard erection, which he has been trying not to rub against the bed and failing, and focuses his attention on her nub, sucking it between his lips before ruthlessly rubbing it with the tip of his tongue. It's not long until she is quivering, the powerful muscles of her thighs clenching around his head.

He feels like he is drowning in her body, in her smell, and he couldn't wish for a better way to go. She comes with a loud gasp and wetness runs down his chin. He continues his ministrations, prolonging her pleasure and bringing her down slowly. When her hips move away from his face, he knows she has had enough, so he finally pulls from her center, kneeling between her legs.

Daisy is breathing heavily, eyes lidded, a fine sheen of sweat on her golden skin. Coulson can now admire something he always did about her on a different level, the noninvasive self-assurance she has with her body, her own skin, something few have and that Coulson spent most of his life trying to emulate. She doesn’t seem bothered by her state of undress, by how exposed she is to his gaze, how it takes her in unfiltered. She lost that for a while when she got her powers, when Hive controlled her, but Coulson is glad that she got it back with time, with his and the team's help.

He licks his lips before using a corner of the bed sheet to wipe his face. Daisy watches, breathing slowly normalizing. He wedges himself between her legs again, settling them around his hips before hovering over her, holding the nape of her neck going in for a heated kiss. His erection rests against her belly, and Coulson isn't the type to flatter himself, but the image how long and thick it looks in comparison to her satisfies kinks he didn't know he had.

However, as he looks into her face, inches away from his, the lust clouding his mind is pushed aside for a little while. This is Daisy he is with, and even though this new dimension of her, of them, is overpowering enough to challenge even his self-control, there are tendencies he has always had towards her that are paramount even now. He kisses her softly and his hand pushes wet strands of hair away from her face.

“Daisy, is this okay?” His voice is rough and laced with sincerity, and she knows that any possible answer she could give is completely valid and all he expects from her is the assurance of the truth, even if it is a 'no'.

“Yes.” There is no hesitation, no doubt. Even if what tomorrow might bring is still a mystery. “You?”

“Yeah.” Affection is clear as day on his face as he watches her, and it warms Daisy from inside out. She pulls him down for another kiss, enjoying his taste and the closeness between them. But insecurity suddenly makes an appearance, she remembers who they are, where they are, what has happened and what probably will.

“Do you think you will regret this?” She asks, vulnerable. She thinks of how the situation might have pushed them together in a manner that wouldn't happen otherwise, thinks of his feelings for May, her lingering grief over Lincoln, how their lives are always so damn complicated.

“I'm hoping you won't.” As usual, Daisy is his priority. Even if, by any chance, he comes to regret this particular new shade their relationship has acquired, Coulson knows that it won't ultimately harm it for him. What they have between them has never been as well defined as he would have liked, but he learned to not fight it, just go with it. No matter the name, the category they fit, Daisy has been the most important person in his life for years. He doesn't see that changing, even if everything else about them does.

“I won't, if you don't.” She promises him, an assurance to both.

“Deal.” That's enough words for them and the simmering heat between rises as if it was never stilled at all.

Coulson kisses Daisy as if he is a drowning man and she is air. She matches his intensity touch by touch. He would be happy to lie there, his naked body pressing against hers and their mouths exploring each other, but there is urgency in the tightening of his groin and in how she shamelessly rubs her center against his cock, covering it with her wetness. The thought of protection runs through his mind, but he knows – has actually known for years, since he was the one who awkwardly asked Simmons to suggest it to her after Miles – she is on SHIELD birth control, a very efficient type. He also knows she hasn't been with anyone since Lincoln and he since Rosalind, and they have both gotten obligatory checkups since then.

He asks anyway, more awkwardly than he would have liked.

“We good?” And Daisy should not understand what he means with those two words pathetically strung together into something that is barely a sentence, but she does.

“Yeah, we good.” A wave of stifling love for her catches him by surprise. It seems that the synchronicity of them extends even here, and she proves that yet again when she reaches down to position him against her entrance just as he hesitates on the logistics of that. He feels well right now, but he is getting out of air quickly and his chest hurts all the time, he needs both hands to support himself on top of her.

Coulson kisses Daisy again because he can't help himself before pushing his hips against hers and finally sinking in her heat. He is torn between watching his cock disappear inside of her, the visible stretch as it pushes her open, and the expression of open-mouthed pleasure on her face. He hits bottom before he is completely inside, so he stops pushing as he knows most women find that uncomfortable. It's a surprise when Daisy closes her legs around him and pushes her hips down, attempting to press those last inches inside. She gasps at the delicious pressure he exerts against her cervix. It's only vaguely painful, mostly she just feels overwhelmed by the feel of him so deep inside of her. He leans back, kneeling to give himself better support.

When he starts moving, they quickly become a mess of quivering, moaning, sweating bodies. He starts slow but firm and deep, rapidly escalating to fast, passionate thrusts. The newness and intensity of this, coupled with the comfort and familiarity of their relationship, takes both of them to levels of pleasure they never thought possible. Daisy has never once in her life managed to reach peak without direct clitoral stimulation, but she is pretty sure this is it. A new first. His cock is big enough to rub all the crannies inside that make her see stars, just on the good side of painful, and he really knows how to use it, how to find the right pace and the best angle to make her toes curl.

When she comes, she is silent, and it's surprising to Coulson considering how loud she was during the whole build up for it. But it's magnificent, she closes her eyes and clamps down on him hard and when the bed shakes it's not because of her powers.

He holds her chin and lets her scratch his back all she wants, squeezing him between her tights.

“Daisy, sweetheart. Look at me.” He asks, and she does. Her eyes look into his as he fucks her through her orgasm, until she finally relaxes in his arms. He stays still when he feels her hips draw back from his, waiting for her to catch her breath. His balls ache and his cock is pulsating, but he ignores it, kisses her face, licks the drops of sweat down her neck and clavicle while she recovers.

He gets so involved in his task that she has to pull him up for a kiss.

“That was… intense.” She gives him the softest smile. He knows he smiles back wide, too wide, but he can't help himself. They both forget their reality for a moment, and it's so good neither wants to remember it. “But now, let me.”

Her grin turns a bit wicked before she clenches around him and flips them over without letting him slip from her. And then she is over him, sitting on his cock, which is now as deep inside as its length allows for, hands on his chest. The sight alone has his balls drawing up, but he takes a deep breath and tries to relax. That is, until she starts moving, impaling herself on him again and again, and all he can hope for is to be able to hold on for the ride and not go into cardiac arrest then and there – which is actually a very possible outcome.

Coulson is not a normal guy. He likes to think of himself as considerate and he genuinely draws a lot of pleasure from making sure his partners have the best time possible. But he is a guy nonetheless, and the sight of this stunning woman fucking herself on his cock, breasts bouncing with every thrust, is enough to drive him to basic functions. Watch her, grunt, hold her hips, hope to hold on just a bit longer. Moan her name in embarrassing loud tones. When she rubs her own clit with one hand, he loses it.

“Daisy.” He groans her name like a prayer, low and desperate. He sits up to hold her tightly against his body, thrusting hard and deep inside of her. The change of angle gives Daisy the exactly right pressure she needs to come again, and she does so holding him back as tightly and gasping on his ear. They stay like that for a moment, Coulson's hands on her hair while he kisses her neck softly, Daisy's hands on his back while she just breathes against him.

When they feel his cock finally soften enough to slip out of her followed by an amount of fluid that should be gross and embarrassing, but isn't, they finally part enough to look at each other.

“Any regrets yet?” He asks her softly. She laughs, but her expression is sad, everything that has happened coming back to them.

“Not about this.” There are so many others. “What about you?”

Her face is held by him, thumb running over her cheek. He knows he is staring, but she is staring right back. He is still terribly out of breath and his whole body hurts. But the ache in his heart is not only from disease, but also from how intensely he feels for her. Before, part of why he was so accepting of death, so ready for it, was because he knew she would be fine without him. There would be the team, their family, to look after her. Daisy wouldn't be alone. Now only the two of them are left, and there is nothing he wants more than to postpone his end. At least until he can make this right, somehow. Not only for Daisy, for the whole team. But also deeply, truly for her.

“None.” And he challenges himself to be clear, because despite how she understands him with few or no words, he needs her to _know_ this. “Daisy, I love you, and when I say that I don't mean... I-I have loved you for years. Not, not like this or any other way necessarily.” He sighs, frustrated by his inability to say what he means. “I don't love our relationship, or well, I mean, I do. But I love you regardless of it, regardless of what it was or is or can be.”

He isn't sure he was clear enough, but Daisy surprises him. Her eyes well-up and there is no time for him to become properly shocked by the fact he made her cry.

“I love you too. So much.” Daisy hugs him tightly enough to make his bones grind, it reminds him of the serum she took to save the world.

“Please, don't leave me.” She asks, her voice young, and he pulls away to wipe her tears and look into her eyes.

“I will do my very best not to.” He wants to ease her pain, but he can't lie to her. “But if I can't, I want you to know. You are my family, no matter what. Promise me you will always remember that.”

She looks vulnerable and afraid and he wants to wrap her up and protect her from the hurt she is clearly feeling. But she is his Daisy, his hero, resilient and stubborn as a mule. She also trusts him above anyone else. So she shakes it off and when she answers the tears have stopped and her voice is her own again.

“I won't forget. You are mine, too.”

Coulson can't think of a better adjective for himself than _hers_.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is my one true love, after Cousy, of course. So, pretty please?


End file.
